my sad place: the county fair

i'm about to make a strange request of all of you, but bear (bare?) with me.

there are people of the world that will tell you, in jest, to think of your "happy place." this typically occurs when the two of you are having a conversation. you are annoyed with something to a degree that is entirely socially and psychologically acceptable, when your friend takes the opportunity to make you feel foolish by suggesting you're completely off your rocker. the only way to put you back on your rocker is for you to imagine your "happy place." likely some secluded beach on a tropical island with lots of sunshine and shade and barely dressed men that are holding palms to fan you as you sip on a tropical drink and soak in the sea air....

but i digress.

my request is for you to push all these happy thoughts aside for a moment and think of your "sad place."

that's right. go ahead.

...

...

what have you got?

maybe that time that your pet parakeet was feet-up at the bottom of the cage?
the day you didn't make the JV cut for the basketball team?
when Sam dumped you for that other chick/guy who was SO not fucking hot?

ok. all excellent sad places.

you want to know what i've got?

i've got the county fair.

the county fair, almost universally across this great nation, has got to be one of the most depressing places. having attended one the other night for my summer job, i realized that county fairs indeed make me sad.

where else can you witness a morbidly obese woman wearing spandex and selling deep-fried twinkies for $5?
or how about the booth operator who will flirt with every member of the family, including the infant you're pushing in a stroller, or the dog you've brought along to aid your feeble grandpa, in an effort to get you over and pop some balloons with a dull dart?
where else is it expected that parents will lose their children--guaranteed!--that there is a booth established for reclaiming such ill-babysat toddlers? toddlers who are then turned over to the awful parents without so much as a warning or repremand for ever breeding in the first place?
where else do you see people dumb enough to still be intrigued by the lady with a snake's body? where else can you find people on this planet who are willing to part with their own money to witness something that , if you've managed to complete at least a 5th grade level of education, is irrefutably a poorly-masked con?
where else do you see old men trying to sell some cookware or garden hose to a group of equally old-ish county fair attendees with more vigor and passion than can be found on most daytime soap operas?
where else to you find individuals, again paying money, to get on a ride that is visibly rusted and rickety, tossing all care to the wind, to completely trust some greasy-haired toothless freak that they won't be hurled into the sky when that cable finally breaks?
where else is it ultimately clear that America has, indeed, jumped the fucking shark?

only at the county fair--a place that is still envisioned as a time for family fun and excitement.

and that makes me incredibly sad.

who is the hottt-est of them all?

and the winner iiiisssss....


...TDDLLDLTTTLTLLDLDDLTTLD...(that's a drumroll)




PAULY D!



(sorry guys. next time i'll hook it up so these bigheads can't vote more than once.)

second place goes to BILVOX!



and last, BUT HOTTEST, is my fucking cute-ass mutt, ANGIE! (she doesn't have a website, folks. she's a goddamn DOG.)



and Paul, you know i love you, but your GRAND PRIZE has become null and void because you broke a TRIPLE-DOG DARE.

so, now, we're just even.

LOOK AT THIS WEEK'S FUN NEW POLL!!

(and if you actually vote for me to take on the world of plus-size models, just know that i'm a good stalker. OH, and for the "smart" people, the last vote option is like a write-in ballot. to chose this option, you have to WRITE IN your suggestion.)

ok, GO.

fuck office space

i want to let all of you in on a little secret. i'm on the verge of a REVOLUTION. that's right kids, a damn rebellion.

i share this with you today, because i think you want to be part of this grand war. i think you are all suffering, quietly suffering, every damn day of the workweek.

oh, that's right. i'm talking about idle workplace discourse.

overweight office-lady #1: "hoo! it's a scortcher out there Betty!"

overweight office-lady #2: "you betchya, Karen! i'm heading to my daughter's after work to take a dip in her pool with the grandkids!"

overweight office-lady #1: "well, aren't you the lucky duck! send some cool thoughts my way!"

overweight office-lady #2: "i sure will!"

ladies, ladies, ladies.
there will be no sending of thoughts! telepathic communication only exists in the MOVIES. are you in a movie? NO! you're NOT IN A MOVIE. people do not speak LIKE MORONS in real life. there will be no more use of the terms "hoo-boy!" or "you betchya!" or "irregardless" or "as per" or "take care, now!"

there will be no more of this oblivious commenting either. like when you're riding to the deli to pick up the group's lunch order.

nerdy office-man #1: man! it's hot as balls in my car, huh?

balding office-man #2: you can say that again! (rolls window down)

nerdy office-man#1: (gives balding office-man #2 a sideways glance and turns up the A/C as he pulls out of parking lot)

balding office-man #2: the breeze is nice though! thank God for that!

nerdy office-man #1: yeah. well, i could put on the A/C if you want

balding office-man #2: nah! i love the fresh air.

nerdy office-man #1: (fuming silently, turns air vents directly at his face)

listen, driverman. you clearly have not heard of the REVOLUTION. this is how you handle the situation: "um, jackass...you wanna roll up that window? i have the A/C on."

there. done.

JOIN THE REVOLUTION.

tell your cube-neighbor to stop farting.
tell the lady in accounting that she needs to stop fucking up your paycheck. her job is specifically to not fuck up your paycheck. remind her of that.
when the random what-does-that-guy-do-here-anyway dude strolls by to remind you that it's almost friday, tell him that you already have a calendar that you're capable of reading. tell him to stop being annoying, already before someone reports him for being a trespasser.

let's not pussyfoot around this, mmkay? there is no need for such behavior. you do not need to comply with moronic exchanges. inform your boss that being productive requires you to as little interaction with idiots as possible. then tell him, on that note, that you need to get back to work. do not say "pronto."

you have now joined the REVOLUTION.

(if you forward this VIA EMAIL to your friend, who works down the aisle from you, i will officially kick you out of the REVOLUTION.)

on a weeknight?!

last night i had to attend a teen dance party. it's all part of my job this summer as a fancy interim coordinator.

(on a side note, the director told me yesterday over lunch that i had signed a full year contract with the department. oh. "i thought it was only through august." he laughs. very loudly. and longer than i was comfortable with. "heh, no." more laughter.)

so the dance party was hosted by my group of kids and the region's top 40 radio station. it was nothing short of awful. i busted a few moves for pure comic relief and then resigned myself to texting people i hadn't spoken to in months.

since i had transported two of the girls, i got to hear about how much they thought the party sucked during the drive home. since this was making me feel even better about how i spent the past three hours of my life, i opted to change the topic of discussion.

"why didn't your sister come, tatiana?"

"she's on punishment." kiara piped in from the back seat.

"what'd she do?" i asked.

"i dunno, but it was real bad 'cuz she's in trouble for the rest of the summer."

"well, didn't you ask her what she did?"

"no." tatiana had no interest in elaborating.

"aren't you curious? i mean, she's grounded for the entire summer? it must be bad right?" i pleaded.

"i guess. if i asked her, she'd just tell me to mind my own business anyhow."

i was really shocked by this. apparently i'm more nosey than my youth activists. before i could insist any further, she turned the conversation toward her crazy events from the previous evening. this is something i was completely unprepared for.

the two girls settled in to explain how tatiana almost got jumped by some girl while ordering chinese food late last night.

"you were out at 11?! on a weeknight?" i mean, yeah, it's summer, but come on! it's no secret that this city is known for it's ghetto-tastic qualities.

kiara ignored me and begain. "i was outside with mines and tati was in there wit' Mr. Ling..."

"wait," i interrupted. "mines? are you talking about your boyfriend?" the girls laughed in agreement. "you have to translate these things for me."

"miss kris, you crazy!" they call me miss kris. and yeah, i am a little crazy.

"so anyway," tatiana took over. "this girl came up cuz she thought kiara was my sister and then when she saw she wasn't, she thought she could fight me."

i interrupted again. "you still confused miss kris?" kiara was laughing again.

"well, why did this girl want to fight you?" these girls clearly needed some tips on good storytelling.

tatiana sucked her teeth as she tried to gather her thoughts. "well, it kinda started with pappi...you remember that crazy old man that lives with us?...she was makin' fun at him the other day and pappi is crazy. so he was like 'i'm gonna kick that fat bastards ass!' and started runnin' at this girl. and pappi's crazy and he gets this look in his eye and you just gotta run."

oh. ok. i didn't bother asking anymore questions. i was now giggling along with the girls.

"so mr. ling sees that this bitch..."

"tatiana! you ain't supposed to say that!"

"awww...you girls are so good!" i say to them and allow tatiana to finish telling her story of fighting a girl at the chinese food store at 11pm on a weeknigh in the ghetto.

"...and he calls mommy and my sister. and then kiara calls hers."

i couldn't help myself, "wait. mr ling has your phone number?"

"yeah, errbody got my phone number!" tatiana says to me.

oh. ok.

i resolved myself to silence as tatiana and kiara took turns telling their highlights of the story. it all ended in what i imagined to be a crowd of people spilling into the streets in the middle of the night. mr. ling with his portable phone, yelling incoherently to tatiana's mother, who i'm sure must have translated instincitvely as if talking to Lassie. then boyfriends ran up, in outfits to match their girlfriends, to show their undying support of tatiana and kiara. when the mother and sister of tatian arrive, they're in their skivvies, rollers in their hair, more fired up than a bull in a bullfight.

all on a weeknight. in the middle of the night. thank god for mr. ling.

on driving, violence & drifters

i spent a lot of time driving yesterday, which has prompted me to discuss a few things about drivers and their automobiles--habits of the road in general. and i'm not just referring to the fact that nobody on the fucking planet seems to have passed driver's ed (well, except for me and you...and that chick from college. man, she sure knew how to handle a stick.).

no, no. i'm referring to people driving very fancy cars--more specifically, those people who clearly should not be allowed to even ride in one.

i was getting off an exit, waiting for the BMW in front of me to merge into traffic, when i noticed a few things.

one: it was silver. do they make that frigging car in any other color for christ's sake? i'm thinking it must be cheaper in silver. or maybe it's a knockoff from Canal Street.

secondly, the dude had a busted tail light. sure, shit happens and people are busy. but when said shit transpires and you have little time to spare in your busy BMW-driving world, do you then go to the automotive supply store to buy that red masking tape shit that never sticks for more than a week in an effort to repair the busted plastic? well, if you drive this silver BMW, you do.

and to top it ALL off, you are a big fan of those little tree air fresheners. and by "fan" i mean that you dangle at least one from your rearview mirror at all times, with the plastic baggie still attached, allowing the vanillaroma-goodness to seep proportionately into your leather interior. and when that one is kicked, you get another one, in a clashing color--probably blue, and hang it alongside of your previous tree. maybe those are your school colors and you can't get past your high school glory days. maybe the combination is a odor you just can't get anywhere else. or maybe you're just a fucking douchebag and you should move to Maryland.

you're not fooling me, mr silver, air-freshened, busted-light BMW driver. do the world a favor and merge into this approaching Mack truck, k?

*****

moments after my BMW episode, after i had successfully merged off my exit ramp, across another highway's entrance ramp, and around a lost driver, i came upon a curious sight. alongside this treacherous roadway was a group of individuals, walking.

everyone has seen this now and again. sure. you run out of gas. your car breaks down. you're running away from a zombie in some horror flick. and, inevitably, you must walk where you typically would not.

however, this was a herd of people. i did a double-take in an effort to count them. there were at least twenty. i'm not exaggerating. 20 people of varying ages walking alongside a major highway. surely this was illegal. but beyond that, what the hell were they doing?! i was tempted to swing around and inquire about their destination, but i was on a tight schedule.

and quite frankly, i was a bit scared. there wasn't much explanation for their presence aside from them having just emerged from the woods, a secret access point to their tribal village...underground, even. i'm sure they were savages. savages about to wreak havoc on modern society in some sort of defiant, violent protest.

i should have at least pointed them toward the silver BMW.

laugh. you'll feel better.

i've been adding new links to my list, so please be sure to check them out. they're really freakin' hilarious. like, for real.

today's adds are:
(in no particular order)

1. Citizen of the Month
2. dude. man. phat.
3. pink is the new blog

none of them need much help with publicity, so this is really just me looking out for my readers'/visitors' well-being. you know, to help you laugh more. they say that's good for you now.

especially if you're in a bad mood. force a smile. no, i'm not kidding. DO IT.

DO IT AGAIN!

see? don't you feel silly and happy? it's totally a scientifically proven fact that i read somewhere.

edit:

AND DON'T FORGET TO VOTE! looks like P-Diddy was going to sweep the competition (have you people SEEN his picture?!) but Bilvox is making an impressive comeback!

DO YOUR NATIONALISTIC DUTY. DON'T BE APATHETIC. VOTE OR DIE.

on guard!

let's wrestle.

i have 1505. how badly have you beaten me, kind sir?

it's all about the embracing--or--my "back tat"

if your name is gina favata, and you're writing a bakery-girl memoir in Gallway, you know all about this story. but for those of you not falling into this category, allow me to tell you a little tale...

i'll never forget the details of that day in September (or was it October?). i was in Plattsburgh and it was sunny. i think it was the evening, and i made Katie and Gina come with me to meet Mad Pup of Mad Pup Tattoos.

at the ripe age of 18, i was what i would call most of my students today: a punk. i had the manic-panic dyed hair, bleached first of course, for maximum color. i shopped primarily in thrift stores. i owned clothing that was meant to be worn by men. i did drugs. i drank. i wore brown lipstick. i totally dug poetry.

oh yeah, i was effing cool.

when i finally got to college, i kind of became anorexic, sustaining myself on cigarettes and coffee and the occasional french fry. now that i had the hip figure to go with my oversized Mr. Bean-clothing, there was just ONE THING i needed to complete my image.

a back tat.

i needed some mothergrabbing ink, my friends. and everyone on campus knew that Mad Pup was the dude that had maybe helped that Lizard Boy get all his tattoos, or maybe it was the Lion Lady, or Cher, or someone completely different. regardless, i knew he was my go-to man for my punkass completion.

Mad Pup is likely the exact image of who you've already imagined Mad Pup to be. he was a man in his late 40s with long dark hair and a beard. he had a pot belly and wore a tank top with some sort of Harley Davidson graphics on the front, tucked into belted pants that sat right below his round belly. and of course he had tattoos all over his arms. he was quite intimidating, but i was too amped to care.

so, i picked out the first pretty design from one of their books and plopped myself, face-down, onto Mad Pup's tat chair.

he didn't speak too much, but when he did, his words were laced with dry humor. gina would peak in occassonally and ease my discomfort with her nervous laugh and a quick photo of the procedure. when i felt comfortable enough, i even started chatting with them. a song came on the classic rock station that Inkmaster Pup had playing out of his beat-up radio.

"i love this song!" i started singing along....see the thorn twist in your side...i waiiit.....for you....

"what song is this?" Mr. Pup inquired.

"ummm, U2?! you don't know these guys?!" i was shocked. he had to have been joking.

Mad Pup was apparently not joking, and did not appreciate my mocking his yuppie-band ignorance. "You better watch your tone to a man who has a needle in your back."

i heard Gina's nervous laugh and her subsequent scurrying out of the room.

i quickly apologized and he let out a mischevious laugh.
there was not much more conversation between Mad Pup and myself after that exchange.

that's the story of my back tat.
i don't like it anymore, but at least its connotations have changed in modern day to symbolize an extremely worldly and intelligent female. i'd hate to be seen as someone with a very high bangability quotient.

ryan fucking adams

this dude is one of my favorites. like, top 5, if not top 3.

but, he's also a tremendous asshole. it's a struggle to see this guy in concert and still love him afterwards. if he talks, it's gibberish. if he plays, it's not what you want to hear. if he's on stage, he's likely taken too much of some sort of stimulant. or depressant. or a nice mixture of both.

so you go home, curse him out a bit, pout, bemoan Ticketmaster, and then play a bunch of his songs that made you a fan to begin with. eventually, you decide to not totally give up on him. there's always AA, or rehab, or zoloft. i'm sure the chick that dumped him in NYC was a complete bitch. i'll give him that. it'd fuck any of us up, probably. it's not his fault. right? right.

because, in the end, he's still one of the few artists that has the balls to do this: "shut the fuck up, asshole!"

god has a message for you

i checked my site statitstics this morning and noticed that i'd had an unusually high number of unique visitors. soooo, i checked my referrers, and this is what i found:

1. http://www.pauldavidson.net/2005/07/22/words-for-y... 4

2 http://legendarysurfers.com/blog/blogger.html 3

3 http://djkrishkay.blogspot.com/ 3

4 http://omahaundergroundchurch.blogspot.com/ 2

5 http://pink_toes.blogspot.com/ 2

6 http://juanlenonblog.blogspot.com/ 2

7 http://chatterbots.blogspot.com/ 2

8 http://auntiescountrycorner.blogspot.com/ 1

9 http://vitordasilvarodrigues.blogspot.com/ 1

10 http://cyberanger.blogspot.com/ 1

11 http://chroniclesoffreespeech.blogspot.com/ 1

12 http://blogdocagareu.blogspot.com/ 1

13 http://www.joywalker.blogspot.com/ 1

14 http://jillyoung.blogspot.com/ 1

15 http://cuty-pie.blogspot.com/ 1

16 http://lyrikallounge.blogspot.com/ 1

now, the freaky thing about this is that a vast majority of these sites are freaky RELIGIOUS PEOPLE'S BLOGS. i mean, i have nothing against the religious, but:

A. i've never met one that actually had a blog
B. when i checked a random sampling of their sites, none of them had any kind of link to me.

clearly, this is a message from god. he has intervened to send these people to my site.
and i think what he's saying is obvious:

God says,

RELIGIOUS PEOPLE! (god kinda always has that shouting-booming kind of voice, so caps are necessary.) THROW DOWN YOUR...EH....(god turns to someone in his posse: WHAT ARE THEY CALLED? he can't really whisper. it's like one of those Greek "asides" where everyone just has to pretend you didn't hear.) AH, YES! THROW DOWN YOUR KEYBOARDS. YOU ALL HAVE SOMETHING TO LEARN FROM THIS HERATIC AT THENAMEGAME.COM! LET HER BE YOUR LEADER!

and it was so.

i expect to have an interesting following showing its presence around here in the next few days, people. let's embrace them. they have so much to learn and need our guidance.

you must be this tall to enjoy this ride

thanks for playing, kids. a new poll has been posted.

fyi, relations were had, but said boy has been kicked to the proverbial curb on the grounds of acting his pathetic age.

if you are interested in having relations with me AND can act an age (with photo ID) of at least 26 or higher, i may or may not be interested. it all depends on how much money you make, really. and how much travelling i'd have to do.

et tu, scallywag?

last night was a really groundbreaking evening for me. i decided upon two things that will certainly change the direction in which my life is heading.

1. i no longer want to be a teacher
2. i'm going to bring back the term "scallywag" (or "scallawag"...whichever spelling you prefer)

you see, teaching is just kind of boring. plus, i learned that there are rumors that i'm a bad one circulating around my workplace. and, though i have tenure, i realized that i am, in fact, a lame teacher. because it's getting boring.

here's where you come in. if you would like to hire me, or even drop my name at the next meeting (making it a bullet on the agenda would score you some serious brownie points. and i don't pay in brownies, IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN), i would be really thrilled. i'm thinking something that pays me better than you, preferably, and that will emerse me in beautiful, single men (you know, those ones that understand that being a size 10 does not make you a plus-size model, you asshole). oh, and it should be something in the writing field. with music. good music. and few to no emo-hipster doofuses. i'm willing to move anywhere in the nation. except Alaska. oh, and Maryland. nobody deserves to live in Maryland.

i mean, i could find this job myself, but i'm a very busy woman. i have smokers to save and floating bars to mutiny in an effort to sail to Gallway.

as for the scallywagging, i want to make insults fun again. as i was leaving my floating bar, i engaged in a verbal confrontation with a man who was wearing a hands-free cell phone adaptor. and this man was not driving. he was not even near a vehicle. clearly, this man needed to be informed of his ridiculous existence, but i had no tools with which to work. had i thought of scallywag at that moment, both he and myself would have had a much more enjoyable evening.

there isn't an expert on the planet that would refute that logic, my friends. not a single one.

spending time with mother

a few hours ago, i was listening to the news while i ate some dinner. either Roz Abrams or one of the other evening broadcasters, perhaps Sade Baderinwa (i listen just to hear her say her name. it's salacious.), was talking about the recent Supreme Court Justice nomination. none of it was very entertaining or even insightful. they got to the part where they asked what i imagined to be some visibly annoyed or homeless new yorkers about their opinion on John Roberts. people droned about their worries, and valid ones, but i kind of tuned out. or maybe my mother's chomping drowned out the interview. either way, i managed to tune back in at the perfect moment:

"i hayuf aulwahs bean ah cuhnserfateve."

umm...ya think? where the hell did they find a hick in new york city? i wasn't watching, but i reckon it must have been the naked cowboy.

after dinner, i found out that my friend Lana had been evacuated from the mall in which she works because there were two bombs found. like, real live ones. they even had to detonate one! it was totally on the news and everything. naturally, recapping the incidents to my mother quickly went from concern to excitement to, hey, do you wanna go shopping?

(which, speaks volumes about like every major issue i have, but this is a funny post, so shut up and just let me tell the damn story.)

anyway, we get to Old Navy at the local dirt mall and i'm sitting on the bench of the dressing area waiting for her to show me some pants or something. her room was directly in front of where i was seated, so i could see her sneakered feet beneath the dressing room door. i could also see that she was trying on a pair of jeans WITH her sneakers on.

now, my mother is accident prone and very in-your-face about any kind of mishap she might encounter. seeing that sneaker trying to slip in through what couldn't have been a very wide denim leg, i instantly imagined her falling over. and not just falling clumsily onto the little bench they have in that little room. i envisioned her plowing into the suddenly cardboard-looking divider panels and creating a massive domino effect while narrating the entire decent with shrieks and flailing appendages. first her stall would buckle, her nylon pantied butt for all to see, and then the petite teenager in the next room would let out one of those classic shrills. i'm sure the event would be topped off with a third character emerging from yet a third dressing stall, holding her clothing in front of her wrinkly body. maybe the dude in charge of the fitting room would get on his little CIA-looking walkie-talkie contraption and call for back-up, which would be the entire store, and in lightning speed.

and i'm still sitting there, horrified, as the pressed wood creacks and price tags flutter to the floor.

the image was so real that i actually flinched and grimmaced as i sat. the patient boyfriend of the chick in the stall next to my mother totally saw me. he had been sitting next to me on the bench and i felt his sideways glance.

i stifled my smile by pretending to clear my throat and biting my lip, but since i'm not slick, this was not effective.

this is not the first time i've caught myself physically reacting to a little daydream that i've let get a little unruly.

and i STILL think i'm too cool for online dating.
boo-yeah.

a coupla' things

for those of you playing at home, here are the result's for last week's quiz. windex was the winner and the correct answer. all other options run very closely behind my beautiful blue buffer.



i yanked this one a bit early so that i could run a oh-so-important poll for this week. please read and vote asap. mmkay? grrrreeat.

oh, and no, i'm not the dude in my profile picture. i'm a female. please check out my flickr page if you need to fantasize about me with an image.

thanks
--management.

just a few things on today's agenda

first, the soreness in my right glandular region has now spread to the entire frontal surface of my neck. yesterday, i joked with kristen, in my ineffectual attempt to make her feel bad, that she's implemented a new diet regimen for me since it's become quite painful to eat. something about the saliva glands being triggered. i later mused with another friend that i partially think that, because there is no bruising, i am bleeding internally and will die a slow death, only to be remembered as the girl with the vampire-like lesbianic friend.

maybe the new soreness is just from nursing the other side. that's a theory, too. i guess.

next, if you haven't voted in my COOL NEW WEEKLY POLL!! i'm going to, well, i'm not going to do jack shit. because i'll never know if you've voted or not. but GOD will know, people.

thirdly, check out this new site that i've added to my too-cool-for-school roster: paul davidson's words for my enjoyment. it's very funny. very. plus he's hot. with a totally proportionate head.

lastly, my next interview with a rockstar will be We Are Scientists. i'm really excited about these boys because they're funnier than most people i know combined. i'm so excited, actually, that i've already told them that i'm nearly orgasmic with joy. this, perhaps, was the key to snagging the interview. if you have any suggestions for questions, please leave them in the comments section. i'm so excited that i'm kinda drawing a blank. eek.

and since there are no questions (don't you DARE be that person that asks a really fucking annoying question as the meeting is being hinted at dissolving, you bastard), please enjoy the refreshments at the back of the room. and if there are no refreshments back there, i totally give you permission to leave work early to find some.

my friend Kristen

i wasn't going to go out last night. i'd been abandoned for the second time this weekend, and was literally all dressed up with nowhere to go.

then i remmembered Kristen was back in town from LA.

fuck yes.

when i found her at the waterfront, she was already very drunk. we hugged, with a bit of leg-around-the-hip lesbianic action. that's just what you do when you see kristen. you spend the evening getting yourself into suggestive situations that typically would not surface on a night on the town.

for example:

1. kristen is hot and she was wearing one of those shirts that ties in the back, but has no back. you get the picture. as the night marched on, it was growing loose and she asked me to tie it while we were at the ghetto duck bar. now, the ghetto duck bar has a really small bathroom that is *always* 20 degrees warmer than the rest of the place. thinking i could just be slick, i attempted to untie her shirt so that i could re-knot it more snugly. my puny finger nails were no match for the taut fabric, so i resorted to biting at the knot, which naturally resulted in an instantaneous bar-boner for the boys in the crowd. kristen reached her arms backwards toward my bum and squeezed. the crowd went wild.

i did a shot by myself to catch up with her and apologized to the bartender that i'd likely harrassed during my wednesday night bender.

oh, and then i spotted a transvestite. he/she was there alone, it appeared, and was likely in danger of a beat-down if any kind of flirting was attempted. these kind of things just don't happend in the 'burgh. i really wanted to tell him/her about that gay bar on Broadway, but by the time i thought of it, he/she had either left or was tossed overboard. i did see another one several hours later, so i can only hope that they were working some sort of buddy system.

when i found kristen again, she was on the deck of the ghetto duck bar with three boys from Brooklyn who had sailed in and were spending the weekend in jolly fraternal merriment. we sat with them and chatted for a bit. well, kristen chatted, and the rest of us tried to get a word in edgewise.

oh, and kristen bit me.

yeah, she bit me exactly four times. i have two large bruised on either upper arm and an intensely sore neck. it almost feels as if my gland has been removed. and maybe a piece of my jawbone. naturally, i bit her back. simply because this is the kind of behavior that takes over when spending time with kristen.

i know you probably don't believe me, but if you want, i can set up a meeting and we can test it out. it's true. you'll go home buzzed, strangely aroused, and wondering if your insurance plan covers Ear, Nose & Throat specialists.

say no to emo.

i found this on stereogum.

it's really funny. oh, and kinda loud. so, if you're at work or have on some earthingies, then turn your volume down.

stop EMO haircuts

a word to the sponsors

the following commercials should be put in a hole in the ground with terrorists.

1. the one for the mini-van that says "mothers have changed. shouldn't the mini-van?"
no, you assclown. you should fucking change you sexist, ignorant, fuck.

2. the one for some kind of menopause pill that says it can "increase the risk of uterine cancer if you have a uterus." YOU ARE A MORON.

3. the one for that new SUV that plays "Dust in the Wind." just because i really fucking like that song, and i'd rather not picture some phallic looking automobile when i hear it, you selfish advertising asses.

4. the one for Coke that has some lame-looking urbanites sitting atop a roof with an acoustic guitar in some new-age hippie circle, singing about teaching the world to CHILL. yes, yes. that's it. take a deep breath. just chill. that's what the fucking world needs. sonofabitch! HA! damn! how'd we fuckin' miss THAT ONE! whew!

told you. (LOOK AT THE NEW FUN POLL!)

well, by now you should know that i live my life to entertain you. to amuse you. to, yeah.

anyway. this past week was kind of dull. numbingly dull.
then there was Wednesday night, when i spent my time at the bars with an alcoholic, semi-racist (is that possible?), sex-crazed former co-worker.
that evening led to fuckbuckets worth of drinking and even more amounts of embarrassment for this dumb ass drunk.

so embarrassing and, shameful, really, that i'm not going to share them. publicly, anyway. so, just shake your head and silently scorn me.

BUT!! MORE IMPORTANTLY!!!

look at my new gimmick. it's a weekly poll. every week you can click on new buttons and be enlightened and amazed and humored by your favorite blogger.

(oh, and no. he hasn't called. can we call this one yet? it's clearly brain dead. "i told you so!" does not feel sweet in this situation, but it's all i've got. so, I TOLD YOU SO!)

BOB and BABS

so, as part of my new "Interim Coordinator" position, i'm currently, um, "listening" to a live webcast of teens with disabilities and how they get legislature to listen to them. it actually has very little to do with my summer job, and, pc or not, it's so incredibly fucking boring. i feel like i'm listening to a bunch of 7th graders reading off cue cards, but with fake annoying voice inflection.

so, rather than pay attention, and rather than abandon ship (i'll always at least pretend to do my job), i'm going to poll you, my devoted readers.

preface: i'm no longer despondent about the MD boy. but his behavior is not uncharacteristic to boys i've encountered in the past. THUS, my poll. because, the world should also know that boys are JUST AS COMPLICATED as girls.

ok, to the poll:

DIRECTIONS: please read the following passage and answer the questions that follow. you may refer back to the text at any time.

A boy, we'll call him BOB, has expressed interest in a girl, who we'll address as BABS. BOB spent the evening with BABS and they had great fun. the next day, BOB even called BABS to have a more formal encounter...

(sorry for the interruption, but this kid on the webcast just used the term SOUL SEARCHING. he's like 10 for christ's sake!)

...BOB is a busy boy and lives far away, so he asked BABS to come visit after their lovely date. BABS said I'D LOVE TO, BOB!

and it was so.

BOB never called BABS, so she rememered an upcoming test he had and sent him a TEXT MESSAGE to say good luck and "let's get together soon." he didn't respond. later that evening, when drunk, BABS remembered a moment the two had shared and texted him a joke about it. he responded, rather promptly, with another quip about the moment.

and it was so.

BOB hasn't called BABS since that brief, unromantic TEXT exchange. BABS still has his number, but she thinks the ball is in BOB'S proverbial court. she's even thought of deleting BOB'S digits so that she doesn't drunken TEXT him anymore.

POLL QUESTION #1: What should BAB'S do?
POLL QUESTION #2: Do you STILL think BOB will call, you crazy optimists?

in your dreams

i just checked the weather and it's forecasted to rain (with scary-ass lightning) for the next 10 days. perfect. that will help my mood.

last night, i had a crazy dream that combined about 12ish random things i've encountered/discussed/thought about over the past few days. it was incredibly entertaining, almost along the lines of a Seinfeld episode.

*****(Wayne's World Dream Sequence Sound)*****

as i remember it, the dream began with me looking for an apartment.

(not-so-random thing #1--getting an apartment)

i shared this with my parents and my brother, but when i told them about the place wanted to rent, they frowned. i wasn't surprised by their reaction because the realtor in charge of the rental was infamous around town. the exchange went something like this.

"they're going to try to convert you, Kristine. i really don't think this is a good idea. you can find something better, just give it time."

"i don't have time, Mom! they won't convert me. Lana found her place through these people. they're just Mormons! it isn't some crazy cult."

(i think Lana made a brief apperance to nod her head enthusiastically when i mentioned she'd rented from the zealots. she left the dream as soon as she entered.)

(random thing #2--Mormons)

my brother was even weary, only giving me a sideways glance of, "eh, yeah, Kris. i'm with mom; that's kinda creepy."

suddenly, i was at the apartment that i wanted to rent. i was at the apartment and was waiting for the Mormons to come to show me the apartment. right. when they arrived, i was surprised to see at least 15 people at the door and simultaneously squishing themselves into the entryway. i made a comment about how many there were, when a man explained that it was just a big family. oh. ok.

(random thing #3--the man that spoke was the father dude in that crappy TV movie i fell asleep watching last night).

just when i thought everyone was there, one more kid squirmed in. i remember thinking i knew him as one of my students at the time, but his face is no longer familiar. but he did have striking blue eyes. (random thing #4--the appearance of the eyeballs of my crush)

i looked around the apartment with some of the teenage girls, but i only remember seeing the bathroom. it was a nice place, but very narrow. extremely narrow, actually. (random thing #5--that narrow-ass apartment of some dude i was screwing. actually, not his apartment; his sister's. in Chelsea. sorry, i don't have a link of us screwing. but here's a narrow bathroom in an apartment in Chelsea.)

suddenly, the apartment tour with all the mormons turned into a blogger party. the following people were present, all of whom i've never met in person. some i don't even really talk to. (random thing #6--dreaming of bloggers. people that don't really know me. i'm sorry. i guess i'm creeepy.) citycrab, ikeepadiary, and jeremyhawkins were all there. oh, and that dude i work with--the one who i think *may* be gay. he and jeremy kept switching identities, so i'm not sure which one was really there. i think it was my co-worker, but he was dressed all hipsterdoofus, which i think is more jeremy's style. (random thing #7--dreaming of my other half-crush, metro style)

so this party now consisted of morphing strangers/friends and some family members. my 18 month-old cousin that i've been babysitting showed up, completely on his own, and made a mad dash for the open sliding glass door. i sprinted to catch him before he could fall off the balcony. when i grabbed him, he became miniature, fitting-in-my-palm miniature, and i thought i'd squished him with my fingers.

(random thing #8--my draining times with toddlers, unpaid--no link to protect the identity of the innocent. and the innocent's formerly coked-out mother.)

he must have disappeared, or maybe i actually squashed him, because now i was focused on the fact that my Mormon apartment was either in Beverly Hills or Greece or something. it was all stuccoed on the outside, and my balcony overlooked one of those swimming pools that looks like it's merging with the distant ocean. aparently i could now afford the ultimate sign of affluence. Thanks Mormons! (random thing #9--the swimming pool in that rap video i was watching while on the eliptical machine yesterday)

and i think that was the end.

wasn't that a weird dream?

sometimes i'm sad

i just got done chatting with a friend. we talked a little about love. he told me about the love he'd found. he talked about meeting her family and her meeting his. he showed me pictures. the timing is bad, he says, and there are things to consider. but love is love, right? my story had little to no detail. it's all underdeveloped, undone, in limbo. i steered the dialogue away from myself when my eyes grew sore.

i told him i was jealous and bruised, but also compassionate and hopeful. heartache is heartache.

i said good-bye and went upstairs to eat with my parents.
when my mother passed me the plate of chicken, i speared one with my fork, and plopped it on my plate. then i looked at her and began to cry.

when you have depression, you sometimes forget how terrifying, encompassing, personified, dangerous-- sadness can be.
i haven't cried in a while, and i wondered as i was lying there in the dark of my room, not even taking solace in my cuddled dog, if and how i've been avoiding this.

(my own space, my aching limbs, my wandering eye, my unsettled spirit, my forgotten love. there is more to be done here! i will not--cannot-- stop yelling from this old, dry well until my arms are strong enough to lift me out.)

tears don't always have to flow in streams. sometimes they seep over hours, days, weeks. they're dissipating while you're sleeping or while you're driving or watching TV. sometimes they take this long, i assure you. but the wet on your pillow, your hands, your shirt--it is always heavy and always cold.

guess what?

the other day i was at one of those ghetto-fabulous ATMs at a local gas station. when my $20 bill dispensed, a white moth came out with it and flew away.

my camera broke. now every time i try to take a picture, the power turns off. i'm sad because i wanted to take pictures last night. it only had heart enough to take one shot, after which it resigned itself to the piece-of-shit status that i knew it'd had in it all along.

i'm seriously looking for an apartment. i'm gonna make-it-hah-pen (mariah carey style).

i went to Katz's deli last night and tried a knish for the first time. i had ketchup and salt on mine. it was kinda gross. i'll stick to my falafel.

when we were at Mercury Lounge last night, Lana's boyfriend made an ass of himself trying to compliment one of the dudes from We Are Scientists. only, it was a dude from Bishop Allen. specifically, the drummer, who is very nice and pretended he didn't notice that Brian had just told him that he liked the other band better.

i take zoloft. 100mg per day. if i skip a dose, it makes my eyes feel like they're pulling on my brain and i get dizzy. but, it keeps me suicide free!

he still hasn't called. there was a brief text message exchange, but no phone call. i don't hate him though. he's still really kickass. just busy. i guess. dick.

verdict: no call

i feel like that girl that has been in the previews for that upcoming movie Wedding Crashers. i mean, to call me crazy or a little out there on any typical day would rarely be taken as an insult. today, it might sting. i'm sad about the boy, more than i feel i should be. let me tell you about him.

we met at a bar. (yes, the ghetto duck bar.) i don't ever expect to meet any kind of upstanding citizens when i'm out drinking with my girls, and tonight was not an exception. in fact, myself, Teresa and her sister Siobhan had encountered a rather high proportion of creepy, intoxicated, underdressed and overweight males. and naturally, why *wouldn't* they approach three pretty twenty-somethings that are young enough to be their daughters with pickup lines and molester-like stares not befitting even a rock? the logic will never fail to bewilder me.

we'd hopped around a bit to avoid this hail storm of white trash, but ended up back at our mainstay, the boat bar. we were just finishing a verbal degredation of another boy when we felt eyes upon us from another direction, "Looks like you have another fan." Siobhan said to me with a trademark roll of the eyes. i didn't even glance their way, but this didn't deter my boy.

"Hi guys! I'd like to buy you a drink and ask you a question." he had a nice goofy smile, and striking eyes.

Siobhan and I eyed each other and smirked at his inquisition. "Why in that order?" she quipped.

the three of us were soon laughing, my boy flustered by his misspeak and myself flustered by his light blue eyes.

his trio and my trio spent the rest of the evening together. he and i did a little impromptu ballroom dancing in the midst of a nightclub (he dips!), joked about careers and lifestyles, and smiled and laughed and generally had a terrific time. and we let each other know exactly that.

...yadda, yadda, yadda...

i plopped into my bed at about 7:30 the next morning and was woken 6 hours later by his call. he was leaving town to head back to Long Island (where he's doing his residency as an anesthesiologist) and wanted to see me before he split. i groaned about my headache but told him i'd be ready in 15 minutes. i splashed my face and hoped my cute skirt would detract from my mussed hair. i spritzed some perfume and was ready when he pulled up. i was giddy.

he took me to lunch. it was a beautiful day on the Hudson so we ate on a patio and we chatted about yachts, money, elitist clubs, and how much shrimp should come with a shrimp ceasar salad. then we spent about three hours just walking up and down the riverfront. he held my hand, put his arm around my waist, walked silly, took my picture, asked me to come visit, lounged on the grass, people watched, and kissed. i held his back, welcomed his closeness, felt his sides, squinted up to meet his gaze amidst the sun, asked him to delete my awful picture, flashed half the riverfront in an attempt to gracefully lie beside him, and kissed him back.

i haven't liked a boy, reasonably, in about two years. i had an absolute blast. (plus, i must say, his taut body and MD tag were/are completely hottt.)

but he had to go, so he dropped me off.
and then he went home.

what's a girl to do?
well, go out drinking with the girls, of course!

taptaptaptaptap

my leg is bouncing. i'm starting to go crazy. well, you know what i mean.

this is what a girl does when she waits for your call:

1. she remembers every last detail of your most recent encounter. and then when that is exhausted, she goes to the one before. and if there's more than two encounters for her to reflect upon, and you are making her wait for a phone call, then she's already hating you.

2. she's the most productive she's ever been at work. she goes to the gym and does at least one hour of cardio just to pass the time. it also helps her to know that she's fucking hot and if you don't call her, then she's still a hot fucking chick who can rock it out career-style and then kick major spinning ass at the gym. AND she'll still smell good.

3. she's calling every other person she knows other than you. if they call her back, she'll probably talk about you briefly, but not too much. friends have a tolerance limit for such things. if she's lucky, one of these friends will be willing to go out for coffee, knowing full well that this will only lead to full divulgence of her anxieties about your delayed dial.

4. she will come up with about three reasons why it's feasible that you haven't yet called. when those have lingered in her brain for a few hours, at most, she'll think of at least 10 reasons why you should have already.

5. she'll think of what she'll say when you call. she'll even launch into a fabricated internal conversation during which she also imagines what you'll say in response to what she says when you call.

6. she'll end up eating lots of cookies with her mom, who will say really sweet things that she desperately needs to hear as her emotional waves near high tide.

7. she'll watch Seinfeld until she remembers that you both love the show, which will lead back to a brief revisit of #1.

8. she'll check her email. read blogs. watch that video clip her friend posted on a message board, the one she couldn't see earilier in the day because her government job has a really good Internet filter.

9. she'll do her bills and remember all the important nuts and bolts of her household that need attention. she'll remember that her car is making a fairly loud grinding noise and that her front right wheel might fall off, and isn't it such a fucking bitch that she missed the warranty coverage by a few fucking miles.

10. she'll pout. then she'll be flippant. then she'll almost cry. then she'll call a male friend. or maybe she'll just text him instead.

11. she'll google you.

12. she'll look at the clock and thank the good lord that it's finally a socially acceptable time to go to sleep, happy that this day of waiting is over, you selfish, arrogant asshole. (and she'll fall asleep trying to remember exactly what you look like.)

look!

my friend can flip you off with her foot!

wanna know more about me?

here's how my brother sees it.

"By Request"

it's honest, observant, accurate, and humbling. (and full of brotherly love.)

*swoon*

i met a boy.

he's funny. he's friendly. he's very polite. he's quirky. he's hot. he has a superb figure. he dresses well. he's not pretentious. he's fun and fun-loving. he's outgoing. he's spontaneous. he's flattering. he's an excellent kisser.

(he's a doctor.)

and he totally likes me back.

excuse me for a few days while i act like a giddy twelve year old.

:D

edit: rather, excuse me for a few days while i freak, staying busier than ever with work and gym visits, wondering and awaiting his phone call.

:/

(i'm sure i'll rationalize his non-call or applaud his call when the time comes. this is a goddamn twister of guts and glory (and butterflies and sunshine).

bugbites, etc.

haven't written too much lately. primarily it's because school is done and my friends are in town, so i'm actually living for a bit. but, to catch you all up to speed:

1. arson boy was temporarily evicted from his home after a late-night, foul-mouthed screaming match, during which my mother and i hid in my room with the lights off so we could hear what was being said without being seen. so stealth.

2. i've started a new job working as a big-shot fancy interim coordinator for an anti Big Tobacco group. no, i'm not against smokers, but you really should quit. unless you want to get this:



but anyway, i got the coveted office and now have exactly two enemies, i've been told. it's ok though because my office is in a government building which means there are sheriffs on duty at all times. hopefully the next one won't be so weird and flirty and fucking MARRIED, but whatever. of course, on my first day i met a cute and available boy, but i had a zit so fucking humongous that i was even repulsed. (but on that note, i'm no longer worried about marriage. i think i've decided it's not for me...for now.) but yeah, the job. i make my own hours. there is a filter on the internet access, but i'm making bank. i think i can deal.

3. if you actually listened to me and signed up for that dodgeball thing, please go ahead and unsubscribe. i get incessant text messages from some computer in corporate headquarters and i think it's really mocking me that i have no real friends.

4. i've spent most of the money i'd wanted to use to start a savings. and tomorrow i'm going shopping again.

5. i've gotten three bugbites.

6. my migraines have returned, and i think it's because i clench my teeth.

that about does it. i have some more pictures to post from Teresa's homecoming bonanza, but i'm too lazy to do that now.

i'm hearing some fireworks going off somewhere in the distance, likely the same i saw while picking my mother up from Sears. sitting in the parking lot with my window down, breathing in the heavy, wet air, i saw some of the booms flickering above and beyond the treeline.

i'm saddened by them this year. or maybe it's just tonight. can someone remind me what we're celebrating?